


Not So Easy to Kill

by PiratePlume



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiratePlume/pseuds/PiratePlume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Vane suspects the death of his former crew was an act of vengeance spurned by the woman they chained on the beach.  In order to make sure she is finished with her crusade and has no plans to come against him, he visits her in private.  Only, things don't go exactly according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Easy to Kill

The light of a flame flickered low in the corner of the room, barely casting a halo of light around it and bathing the walls and corners in dull shadows. The tall window was open, sight of the town, sea, and moon all visible from the room’s vantage point. Max closed the door behind her with a soft click and stepped in, elation in her heart and pride singing in her veins. She was no longer a whore, no longer bearing the heavy weight of a shackle around her ankle, but a madame.

Slowly, her steps took her to the long mirror where she gazed softly at her reflection. The bruises, swelling, and cuts she had once worn were gone physically and yet they remained within her, reminding her. If she stared long enough she could remember them, she could remember him. The familiar and unwanted fear curled tight in her gut, making her sick. She closed her eyes and willed the thoughts away. Dead. She reminded herself that he was dead now; nothing more than a corpse, but a devil to haunt her memories.

The faintest shift in movement caught her attention in the reflection of the mirror. She jumped and turned, hands curling into fists as her eyes went wide and searched the shadows. She caught sight of a man she easily recognized, even draped in dull darkness as he was. A frown crossed her brow. “Captain Vane?” Why was he here? What could he want with her? Should she scream and alert Jack Rackham, or perhaps Anne Bonny? Would they hear her, over the rancor of the brothel at night?

A soft glow was briefly illuminated as he lit a cigarette, bringing the end to his mouth where he took a long, slow drag, and his eyes lifted to her face. He remained, leaning against the wall, allowing the white smoke to curl in his open mouth before he pushed it out with a slow breath. It streamed before him, between them, and drifted lazily out toward the open window.

“What is it I can do for you?” She attempted to keep her voice level, not to give in to the apprehensive fright that was jumping about in her mind, dragging up all sorts of terrors for why he was there.

He seemed faintly amused. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, but she wasn’t sure whether or not she could trust his word.

“I don’t know why Jack did it,” he took another drag on his cigarette, not moving forward just as she remained back, both of them with a distance of the room between them, “but I feel it has something to do with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, the fuck you don’t.” She could hear a slight rise in his voice, a bit more pressure. He didn’t believe her, and rightfully so.

Max knew exactly what he was talking about. Just a week prior, the eight men that had remained loyal to Charles Vane had been said to have disappeared – set sail for Port Royal. That was until a scorned madame told the truth to Vane upon his return, who, in order to punish Jack Rackham, let all of Nassau know where Jack’s loyalties lay.

“I had nothing to do with it.” She said, and this time she was being absolutely truthful. She’d had no part in the murder of the men in the wrecks. “I accepted my fate,” she stated firmly, her chin rising as she looked upon him and reached for the inner strength like she’d found that night when she’d refused Eleanor’s assistance.

“I’m finding that hard to believe.” He replied. His hand holding the cigarette gestured to her, and he looked around them and back her way. “A week ago you were a whore, chained on the beach, paying a debt to a crow you owed. Now, you’re partnered with the owner of this brothel, who accompanied Anne Bonny to the wrecks where only he and she returned. The crew you owed are all dead. You’re expecting me to believe you when you say you had nothing to do with it?”

“Yes,” she said, firmly, and he laughed shortly.

“Hell of a story.”

Any moment now she feared he would move for her aggressively, wrap his hands about her throat and squeeze again, only this time he wouldn’t stop. She searched her mind, her most resourceful tool, for anything she could use to keep him from becoming aggressive. There was nothing she could say to appeal to him – there was no way she could actually prove that she was telling the truth and had no hand in the death of his crew. She knew she could not hope to succeed in a physical match between herself and Charles Vane.

“You’re lucky I’m a different man now.” He said, quietly. She frowned, wondering if she’d heard him right. Vane sighed, taking another drag on his cigarette before he shifted, walking forward. Consciously, she moved back, still keeping space between them as he crossed the path beside her and moved toward the window. “New crew. New seat.” He muttered as he stared off to the distant sea. “If you plan to come after me next, you’re not going to have the same result you did with the others.”

“What?” She asked in surprise, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.

Turning his head, the moonlight lit against the sharp lines of his face and the blue of his eyes burned toward her. “I’m not going to be so easy to kill.”

“I don’t want –” She broke off, confused, staring at him and shaking her head just slightly. “I don’t have a vendetta against you, I can assure you.”

“Everyone else on this damn island does.” He looked forward again and she felt herself relieved when he was no longer pinning her with his gaze.

“You were allowing me to leave.” She said, softly, worried she was dipping into troublesome waters – admitting that Charles Vane had been going against the wishes of his crew by letting her escape. If the crew hadn’t been coming to where she was being kept, they’d have never known. They’d have never stopped her and she’d have been alive and free, because she’d understood what pain and anger they shared. Because she’d known what to say to appeal to him.

“You’re not back with her.” He pointed out, and she noticed the muscle in his cheek jump as he clenched his jaw.

“I am stronger than that.” She said, her own hurt considering the situation climbing up her throat, making her voice tight.

“Yeah.” He said, smiling just briefly before taking another long drag on his cigarette.

It was a strange place Max had found herself in, she thought. That she had some semblance of understanding with Charles Vane when it came to the love and scorn of a woman. So many men and women knew this man she stood with, yet Max fancied there were very few that knew him in the way she did, and that was only because they’d shared the same pain.

Very strange. Yet, it could prove useful for her in the future. Perhaps even save her life. Again.

One last smoke and Vane apparently had decided he was done with his cigarette, casting it out the window with a flick of his fingers, down to the sand path below. A beat of silence and stillness passed before he turned, facing her. He began to walk forward, all the grace of a predator, and Max felt trapped even while he wasn’t outwardly aggressive – she knew all too well the dangers that lurked beneath. The wall at her back, Vane’s shadow loomed over her as he stopped before her. This, she thought, was when she should scream, but found she couldn’t.

Then, he descended. Rather than his hands coming to hurt her, it was his lips that touched hers. For the brief, first second, the touch was gentle. Then, he deepened it, aggressively so. His mouth took hers, his head turned, his tongue brushed at the line of her lips. Max, caught in absolute shock, was rigid. She knew all the ways to kiss a man, ways to teach a man how to kiss, but in that moment she forgot it all. All she could think was that he tasted of smoke and alcohol.

He was drunk. He had to be.

Just as her senses were returning to her as if she were snapping clear of a daydream, he pulled away. One second longer and she might have struck him, pulled her head back, anything…

He gave no room for questions, turning instead quite quickly and stalking from her room. Max exhaled after he left, sagging against the wall, bewildered and lost. Her lips still tingled from the rough contact of his mouth, she still tasted him, and she could still smell a faint smell of him and of smoke in her room. Her frown dug in harshly as she lifted her fingers to her lips, pressing them there and wondering…

The cool air smelled of sea. Bawdy sounds of laughter chased down the streets from multiple directions, yet Vane paid them no mind. His own was a storm, wondering what temptation had pulled him to kiss the whore – or madame now, he mentally corrected himself. There was no denying her beauty, but given their recent history and the common thread they shared (scorned lovers of Eleanor Guthrie), there should have never been a situation where he put his mouth on her in any way, shape, or form.

She already knew too much of him. Standing in that room with her, knowing that she understood how it felt, he felt exposed. He felt stripped of everything – of his position, of his reputation – and bare before her. Those eyes of hers could see what pain lurked beneath and that was a dangerous thing for any woman to know. Yet, just as it was dangerous, it was almost liberating. Holding up a charade of strength was an exhausting thing at times, and those few moments of his guard slipping away had been strange and new. It was not very often he could feel in such a way… Not since… Well, Eleanor.

He’d only meant to warn her that evening, to make certain her wild path of vengeance wasn’t going to turn her toward him. He’d be damned if he found himself at the end of a blade because of her. That, and there was the unspoken truth between himself, her, and Jack Rackham. Just as she had said it, Vane had been allowing her to leave, to live.

Not only did she share common ground with him in past relationships gone wrong, she was one of the very, very few to be granted a second chance. Rather than death, he’d given her life when he’d slain men for much, much less.

His expression tightened angrily as his tongue ran across his lips and he still swore he tasted just a hint of her; still swore her sweet, feminine scent was buried in his nose and the soft, silkiness of her lips were on his. A swear fell sharply under his breath as he turned, his shoulder plowing into a figure who fell back with a yelp of offense, but Vane paid them no mind, moving forward still.

He needed a drink, or a fight… or both. The men at his fort would give him that, and after he drank himself into a stupor that night, he’d forget all about that damnable mistake he’d made when he’d put his lips on hers.


End file.
